A BOOKOF 



COPYRIGHT. 



ICHARD WATSON GILDER 
1 MCMVI 



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g COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. i 

I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. | 

'^ 9—165 m 



A BOOK OF MUSIC 



THE NEW DAY 

THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

LYRICS 

TWO WORLDS 

THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

THE AEOTE ALSO ly ONE VOLtlME EITTITLE 

FIVE BOOKS OF SONG 
IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS 
POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 
"IN THE HEIGHTS" 

AliSO SELECTIONS ENTITIiET) 

FOR THE COUNTRY 

A CHRISTMAS WREATH 

A BOOK OF MUSIC 



A BOOK OF MUSIC 



BY 



RICHARD WATSON GILDER 




NEW YORK 

THE CENTURY CO. 

MCMVI 



UBRARy of CONGRESS 
1 wo Coulee Kecuved 

OCT 8 1906 

cuss CO AAC, No, 
COPY A. 






<?o6 



Copyi-ight, 1875, 1894, 1905, 1906, by KlCHAKD WATSON GELDER 

Copyright, 1905, 1906, Chables Scbibneb'8 Sons 
Copyright, 1906, Houghton, Mifflin and Company 

All rights reserved 
Puhllshed, October, 1906 



THE DE VINNE PRESS 



^ 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Prelude 3 

Music and Words 9 

Listening to Music (Rubinstein's "Ocean Symphony"; From 

" The New Day ") 12 

"Because the Rose Must Fade" 13 

III Tidings (The Studio Concert) o 16 

Life and Death (From "Non Sine Dolore") 18 

EssiPOFP 20 

"To-Night the Music Doth a Burden Bear" 22 

Adele Aus der Ohe 23 

Music and Friendship 26 

The Stairway (M. K. W.) 27 

The Violin (From "The New Day") 28 

Handel's Largo .30 

Paderewski 32 

The 'Cello 36 

A Memory of Rubinstein 38 

7 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"The Pathetic Symphony"; (Tschaikovsky) ,39 

An Hour in a Studio, Singing of the Plainsmen, (F. Lungren) 40 

The Unknown Singer .42 

The Voice 44 

Wagner 46 

"Mother of Heroes" (Sarah Blake Shaw) 47 

Beethoven (Vienna — 1900) . 48 

The Anger of Beethoven , 50 

MacDowell 52 

A Mood 55 

Music in Solitude , 56 

Music at Twilight 60 

Music in Moonlight .64 

Music in Darkness (Adele Aus der Ohe) ,,..,., 67 



cover design by ALICE R. GLENNY 



A BOOK OF MUSIC 



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PRELUDE 

WITHOUT intent, I find a book I 've writ 
And music is the pleasant theme (fit; 
Ear though 1 can no music make, I trust 
Here 's proof I love it. 

Though no reasoning fine 
Should any ask to show this art divine. 
Yet have I known even poets who refuse 
To name pure music as an equal muse. 
If music pleased them, 7 was not deeply felt. 
And in its charms they deemed it shame to melt ; 
Ear that, they held, it is an art where might 



4 PRELUDE 

Even children give its votaries delight, 
And therefore lacking in the things of mind. 
But 't is not argued well. There is a kind 
Of music that a little child can give, 
Echoing great masters ; hut the masters live 
Not in such echo— elfish, immature ; 
' T is hut a part of them. Ah, he ye sure 
^ Though lovely, not the loveliest ; that must wait 

For him who noble moods can recreate 
With solemn, subtle, and deep-thoughted art 
That wins the mind or ere it takes the heart. 
For that a child may gracious music make 
Is hut a sign that music doth partake 
Of something deep, primeval, that began 
When God dreamed of himself, and fashioned man. 
' T is near the source of being ; it repeats 



PRELUDE 
The vibrancy that runs in rhythmic beats 
Through all the shaken universe ; and though 
Its language shall take not the ebb and flow 
Of speech articulate, it is that tone 
Greaves closer to life's core ; the thing alone 
WelUnigh it is, not thought about the thing; 
No pictured flight across a painted sky,— 
The bird itself, the beating of its wing ; 
The pang that is a cry ; 
Not human language, but pure ecstasy. 

In this my BOOK OF MUSIC which hath come 
As doth a lover's litany by some 
Miraculous chance, with added song to song, 
I trust I have my Lady done no wrong,— 
My Lady of Melody I worshiped long. 



6 PRELUDE 

Blameless the artist praises the sweet rose 
If in his art he aim not to compose 
An image, all inanimate, that seeks 
To copy shrewdly those inviolate cheeks 
Or the rich, natural odor imitate ; 
But shows, as best he can, its grace and state, 
The love that in him burns for this fair flower, 
And all his joy therein, for one brief hour. 
Nor shall the poet subtly strive to phrase 
For any heart save his what music says; 
For,— as before the autumn skies and woods,— 
A meaning gleams through our own human moods: 
Yet is the meaning real ; and many a wound 
VTherewith our spirits are beaten to the ground 
Heals 'neath the sanctity of noble sound. 



PRELUDE 

Ah, not to match the music of the wires 
Or trembling breath, the instruments and choirs, 
But to tell truly how that moves the soul 
In the impassionate and rhythmic word, 
By poesy's proper art,— which must be heard 
Even as music is! Not to forget 
The viol and the harp, the clarinet. 
The booming organ ; too, the intertwined 
Voices wherewith the sounding, rich clavier 
Under the master's hand enchants the ear,— 
If so may be to catch a fleeting strain 
And in new art imprison it again! 
Then let him list to music who would rhyme ; 
For every art, though separate, may learn. 
From the great souls in all, how to make burn 



8 PRELUDE 

Brighter the light of beauty through all time. 
And scorn not thou to read of music's power 
Over one soul that in great humbleness 
His memory brings of many a happy hour, 
Hoping these echoed tones some wounded heart may 



MUSIC AND WORDS 

I 

THIS day I heard such music that I thought : 
Hath human speech the power thus to be 

wrought, 
Into such melody,— pure, sensuous sound,— 
Into such mellow, murmuring mazes caught ; 
Can words (I said), when these keen tones are 

bound 
(Silent, except in memory of this hour) — 
Can human words alone usurp the power 
Of trembling strings that thrill to the very soul. 
And of this ecstasy bring back the whole ? 

9 



10 MUSIC AND WORDS 

II 

Ah no, ('t was answered in my inmost heart,) 
Unto itself sufficient is each art. 
And each doth utter what none other can— 
Some hidden mood of the large soul of man. 
Ah, think not thou with words well interweaved 
To wake the tones wherein the viol grieved 
With its most heavy burden; think not thou. 
Adventurous, to push thy shallop's prow 
Into that surge of well-remembered tones. 
Striving to match each wandering wind that 

moans. 
Each bell that tolls, and every bugle's blowing 
With some most fitting word, some verse bestow- 
ing 



MUSIC AND WORDS 11 

A never-shifting form on that which passed 
Swift as a bird that glimmers down the blast. 

Ill 
So, still unworded, save in memory mute, 
Rest thou sweet hour of viol and of lute ; 
Of thoughts that never, never can be spoken. 
Too frail for the rough usage of men's words — 
Thoughts that shall keep their silence all 

unbroken 
Till music once more stirs them ;— then like birds 
That in the night-time slumber, they shall wake. 
While all the leaves of all the forest shake. 
Oh, hark, I hear it now, that tender strain 
Fulfilled with all of sorrow save its pain. 



LISTENING TO MUSIC 

(RUBINSTEIN'S " OCEAN SYMPHONY;" FROM " THE NEW DAY") 

WHEN on that joyful sea 
Where billow on billow breaks ; where 
swift waves follow 
Waves, and hollow calls to hollow ; 
Where sea-birds swirl and swing, 
And winds through the rigging shrill and sing : 
Where night is one vast starless shade ; 
Where thy soul not afraid, 
Though all alone unlonely, 
Wanders and wavers, wavers wandering ; 
On that accursed sea 
One moment only. 

Forget one moment. Love, thy fierce content ; 
Back, let thy soul be bent,— 
Think back, dear Love ; O Love, think back to me. 

12 



BECAUSE THE ROSE MUST FADE" 



BECAUSE the rose must fade, 
Shall I not love the rose ? 
Because the summer shade 

Passes when winter blows. 
Shall I not rest me there 
In the cool air? 

II 

Because the sunset sky- 
Makes music in my soul, 

13 



14 " BECAUSE THE ROSE MUST FADE " 

Only to fail and die. 

Shall I not take the whole 
Of beauty that it gives 
While yet it lives ? 

Ill 

Because the sweet of youth 
Doth vanish all too soon 

Shall I forget, forsooth, 
To learn its lingering tune ; 

My joy to memorize 

In those young eyes ? 

IV 

K, like the summer flower 
That blooms,— a fragrant death,- 



(( 



BECAUSE THE ROSE MUST FADE " 15 

Keen music hath no power 
To live beyond its breath, 
Then of this flood of song 
Let me drink long ! 

V 

Ah, yes, because the rose 
Doth fade like sunset skies ; 

Because rude winter blows 
All bare, and music dies— 

Therefore, now is to me 

Eternity ! 



ILL TIDINGS 

(THE STUDIO CONCERT) 

IN the long studio from whose towering walls 
Calm Pheidias beams, and Angelo appalls. 
Eager the listening, downcast faces throng 
While violins their piercing tones prolong. 
At times I know not if I see, or hear, 
Yon statue's smile, or some not sorrowing tear 
Down-falling on the surface of the stream 
That music pours across my waking dream. 
Ah, is it then a dream that while repeat 
Those chords, like strokes of silver-shod light 
feet, 

16 



ILL TIDINGS 17 

And the great Master's music marches on — 
I hear the horses of the Parthenon? 

But all to-day seems vague, unreal, far, 
With fear and discord in the dearest strain, 
For 'neath yon slowly-sinking western star 
One that I love lies on her bed of pain. 



LIFE AND DEATH 

(FROM "NON SINE DOLORE ") 

WHAT, then, is Life,— what Death? 
Thus the Answerer saith ; 
O faithless mortal, bend thy head and listen : 

Down o'er the vibrant strings. 

That thrill, and moan and mourn, and glisten. 

The Master draws his bow. 

A voiceless pause ; then upward, see, it springs. 

Free as a bird with disimprisoned wings ! 

18 



LIFE AND DEATH 19 

V In twain the chord was cloven, 

I 

|i While, shaken with woe, 

I With breaks of instant joy all interwoven, 

j Piercing the heart with lyric knife, 

1 On, on the ceaseless music sings, 

I Restless, intense, serene :— 

Life is the downward stroke ; the upward, Life ; 

Death but the pause between. 



ESSIPOPP 

I 

WHAT is her playing like? 
I ask — while dreaming here under her 
music's power. 
'T is like the leaves of the dark passion-flower 
Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, oh, 

deep they sink. 
Deep in the g^-ound, that flower's pure life to 
drink. 

20 



ESSIPOFP 21 

II 

What is her playing like? 

'T is like a bird 

Who, singing in a wild-wood, never knows 

That its lone melody is heard 

By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy 



''TO-NIGHT THE MUSIC DOTH 
A BURDEN BEAR" 

TO-NIGHT the music doth a burden bear— 
One word that moans and murmurs : doth 
exhale 
Tremulously as perfume on the air 
From out a rose blood-red, or lily pale. 
The burden is thy name, dear soul of me, 
Which the rapt melodist unknowing all 
Still doth repeat through fugue and reverie ; 
Thy name, to him unknown, to me doth call. 
And weeps my heart at every music-fall. 



22 



ADELE AUS DER OHE 

(LISZT) 
I 

WHAT is her playing like? 
'T is like the wind in wintry northern 
valleys : 
A dream-pause ; then it rallies 
And once more bends the pine-tops, shatters 
The ice-crags, whitely scatters 
The spray along the paths of avalanches. 
Startles the blood, and every visage blanches. 



24 ADELE AUS DER OHE 

II 

Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool 
That holds the trembling shadow of the trees ; 
Where waves too wildly rush to freeze 
Though all the air is cool ; 
And hear, oh hear, while musically call 
With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar, 
Voices of fall on fall ; 

And now a swelling blast, that dies ; and now— 
no more, no more. 

(CHOPIN) 

I 
Ah, what celestial art ! 

And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and 
float. 



ADELE AUS DEE OHE 25 

All music, into the tranced mind and heart ! 
Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry metal— 
Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect petal ! 

II 

And can we have, on earth, of heaven the whole ! 
Heard thoughts— the soul of inexpressible 

thought ; 
Roses of sound 
That strew melodious leaves upon the silent 

ground ; 
And music that is music's very soul, 
Without one touch of earth,— 
Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for 

mirth ! 



MUSIC AND FRIENDSHIP 

THRICE is sweet music sweet when every 
word 
And lovely tone by kindred hearts are heard ; 
So when I hear true music, Heaven send, 
To share that heavenly joy, one dear, dear friend! 



THE STAIRWAY 

BY this stairway narrow, steep, 
Thou Shalt climb from song to sleep ; 
From sleep to dream and song once more ;— 
Sleep well, sweet friend, sleep well, dream deep ! 



27 



THE VIOLIN 

(FROM "THE NEW DAY") 

BEFORE the listening world behold him 
stand ; 
The warm air trembles with his passionate play ; 
Their cheers shower round him like the ocean 

spray 
Round one who waits upon the stormy strand. 
Their smiles, sighs, tears all are at his command ; 
And now they hear the trump of judgment-day, 
And now one silver note to heaven doth stray 
And fluttering fall upon the golden sand. 

28 



THE VIOLIN 29 

But like the murmur of the distant sea 

Their loud applause, and far off, faint, and weak 

Sounds his own music to him, wild and free— 
Far from the soul of music that doth speak 

In wordless wail and lyric ecstasy 

From that good viol pressed against his cheek. 



HANDEL'S LARGO 

WHEN the great organs, answering each to 
each, 
Joined with the violin's celestial speech. 
Then did it seem that all the heavenly host 
Gave praise to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost : 
We saw the archangels through the ether wing- 
ing ; 
We heard their souls go forth in solemn singing ; 
" Praise, praise to God," they sang, " through 
endless days; 



HANDEL'S LARGO 31 

Praise to the Eternal One, and nought but 

praise ; " 
And as they sang the spirits of the dying 
Were upward borne from lips that ceased their 

sighing ; 
And dying was not death, but deeper living— 
Living, and prayer, and praising and thanks- 
giving ! 



PADEREWSKI 

IF songs were perfume, color, wild desire ; 
If poet's words were fire 
That burned to blood in purple-pulsing veins ; 
If with a bird-like thrill the moments throbbed 

to hours ; 
If summer's rains 
Turned drop by drop to shy, sweet, maiden 

flowers ; 
If God made flowers with light and music in them. 
And saddened hearts could win them ; 

32 



PADEREWSKI 33 

If loosened petals touched the ground 
With a caressing sound ; 

If love's eyes uttered word 
No listening lover e'er before had heard ; 
If silent thoughts spake with a bugle's voice ; 
If flame passed into song and cried, "Rejoice ! 
Rejoice ! " 
If words could picture life's, hope's, heaven's 
eclipse 
When the last kiss has fallen on dying eyes and 

lips; 
If all of mortal woe 

Struck on one heart with breathless blow on blow ; 
If melody were tears, and tears were starry 
gleams 
That shone in evening's amethystine dreams ; 



34 PADEREWSKI 

Ah, yes, if notes were stars, each star a different 

hue. 
Trembling to earth in dew ; 
Or if the boreal pulsings, rose and white, 
Made a majestic music in the night ; 
If all the orbs lost in the light of day 
In the deep, silent blue began their harps to play ; 
And when in frightening skies the lightnings 

flashed 
And storm-clouds crashed. 
If every stroke of light and sound were but excess 

of beauty ; 
If human syllables could quick refashion 
That fierce electric passion ; 

If other art could match (as were the poet's duty) 
The grieving, and the rapture, and the thunder 



PADEREWSKI 35 

Of that keen hour of wonder,— 

That light as if of heaven, that blackness as of 

hell,- 
How the great master played then might I dare 

to tell. 

II 

How the great master played ! And was it he 
Or some disbodied spirit which had rushed 
From silence into singing ; and had crushed 
Into one startled hour a lifers felicity, 
And highest bliss of knowledge — that all life, 

grief, wrong, 
Turn at the last to beauty and to song ! 



THE 'CELLO 

WHEN last I heard the trembling 'cello play, 
In every face I saw sad memories 
That from dark, secret chambers where they lay 
Rose and looked forth from melancholy eyes. 
So every mournful thought found there a tone 
To match despondence ; sorrow knew its mate ; 
111 fortune sighed, and mute despair made 

moan; 
And one deep chord gave answer, " Late,— too 
late!" 

36 



THE 'CELLO 37 

Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift 
returned 
Unto its depths the secret of each heart ; 
Each face took on its mask, where lately burned 
A spirit charmed to sight by music's art ; 
But unto one who caught that inner flame 
No face of all can ever seem the same. 



A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN 

HE of the ocean is, its thunderous waves 
Echo his music ; while far down the shore 
Mad laughter hurries— a white, blowing spume. 
I hear again in memory that wild storm ; 
The winds of heaven go rushing round the world. 
And broods above the rage one sphinx-like face. 



"THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY" 

(TSCHAIKOVSKY) 

WHEN the last movement fell, I thought : 
Ah me! 
Death this Indeed; but still the music poured 
On and still on. Oh, deathlier it grew 
And then, at last, my beating heart stood still,— 
Beyond all natural grief the music passing, 
Beyond all tragedy, or last farewell. 
Then, on that fatal tide, dismayed I felt 
This living soul, my own, without one tear. 
Slowly, irrevocably, and alone, 
Enter the ultimate silence and the dark. 



AN HOUR IN A STUDIO 

(SINGING OF THE PLAINSMEN) 

EACH picture was a painted memory 
Of the far plains he loved, and of their life, 
Weird, mystical, dark, inarticulate,— 
And cities hidden high against the blue, 
Whose sky-hung steps one Indian could guard. 
The enchanted Mesa there its fated wall 
Lifted, and all its story lived again ; 
How, in the happy planting time, the strong 
Went down to push the seeds into the sand, 
Leaving the old and sick. Then reeled the world 

40 



AN HOUR IN A STUDIO 41 

And toppled to the plain the perilous path. 
Death dimbed another way to them who stayed. 
He showed us pictured thirst, a dreadful sight ; 
And many tales he told that might have come,— 
Brought by some planet- wanderer,— fresh from 

Mars, 
Or from the silver deserts of the moon. 

But I remember better than all else 
One night he told of in that land of fright,— 
The love-songs swarthy men sang to their herds 
On the high plains to keep the beasts in heart ; 
Piercing the silence one keen tenor voice 
Singing " Ai nostri monti " clear and high : 
Instead of stakes and fences round about 
They circled them with music in the night. 



THE UNKNOWN SINGER 

ONE singer in the oratorio, 
Her only did I see, nor can forget ; 
Nor knew her name, nor have I seen her more. 
Nor could I in the chorus find her voice. 
Her swaying, gracious form, her face alight 
As with an inner flame of melody— 
These seized me ; seemed the white embodiment 
Of all the angelic voices richly poured 
In a great rushing and harmonious flood. 
That human form, all beautiful and bright, 

42 



THE UNKNOWN SINGER 43 

Lived the pure, conscious, glorious instrument 
Wherethrough the master made his message 

felt- 
Conscious, but with no shallow vanity, 
A breathing image of a thought in sound, 
A living statue, symbol of a tone. 
That which she sang she was ; and, unaware, 
Made music visible not less than heard. 



THE VOICE 

RICH is the music of sweet instruments,— 
The separate harp, cornet, oboe, and flute. 
The deep-souled viola, the 'cello grave, 
The many-mooded, singing violin. 
The Infinite, triumphing, ivoried clavier; 
And when, with art mysterious, some god 
Thrills into one the lone and various tones, 
Then is no hiding passion of the heart. 
No sigh of evening winds, no breath of dawn. 
No hope or hate of man that is not told. 

44 



THE VOICE 45 

But when a human voice leaps from that surge 
'T is as a flower that bursts from th' trembling 

earth; 
Something more wonderful assails the soul, 
As, with exultant cries, up-curving, swift. 
The shrill Walkiire clamor against the sky, 
Or pale Briinhilde moans her bitter fate. 



WAGNER 

THIS is the eternal mystery of art : 
He told the secretest secret .of his heart,- 
How many mortals, with quick-flaming brow, 
Whispered, lo, this am I,— and that art thou. 



46 



" MOTHER OF HEROES " 

SARAH BLAKE SHAW 

MOTHER of heroes, she,— of them who 
gave 
Their lives to lift the lowly, free the slave. 
Her, through long years, two master passions 

bound : 
Love of our free land ; and of all sweet sound. 
' T was praising her to praise this land of grace ; 
And when I think on music— lo, her face! 



47 



BEETHOVEN 

(VIENNA-1900) 

I CAME to a great city. Palaces 
Rose glittering, mile on mile. Here dwells 
the King, 
The Emperor and King ; here lived, here ruled 
How many mountainous far-looming fames ! 
Here is the crown of shadowy Charlemagne. 
What housing of what glorious dignities ! 
Yet in a narrow street, unfrequented, 
No palace near— one name upon a wall. 
And all these majesties seem small and shrunk ; 

48 



BEETHOVEN 49 

For here unto the bitter end abode 
He who from pain wrought noble joy for men, 
He who from silence gave the world to song ; 
For in his mind an awful music rose 
As when, in darkness of the under-seas, 
Currents tremendous over currents pour. 
He heard the soundless tone, its voice he was. 
And he of vast humanity the voice, 
And his the empire of the human soul. 



THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN 

THIS night the enchanting musicians ren- 
dered a trio of Beethoven,— 

Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan tower 

The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and the 
deep-cut windows 

Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four- 
square world,— 

When sudden the music turned to anger, as 
nature's murmur 

Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice 
infuriate, 

50 



THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN 51 

Cruel, quick, implacable ; inhuman, savage, re- 
sistless,— 

And I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging 
back in scorn tempestuous. 

And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous 
arrows of fortune. 



MACDOWELL 

REJOICE ! Rejoice ! 
The New World hath a voice ; 
A voice of tragedy and mirth, 
Sounding clear through all the earth ; 
A voice of music, tender and sublime, 
Kin to the master-music of all time. 

Here ye, and know,— 
While the chords throb with poignant pause and 

flow,— 
Of the New World the mystic, lyric heart, 

52 



MACDOWELL 53 

Breathed in undaunted art: 
Her pomp of days, her ghttering nights ; 
The rich surprise 
And miracle of iridescent skies ; 
Her lovely lowlands and imperial heights ; 
Her glooms and gladness ; 
Her oceans thundering on a thousand shores ; 
Her wild-wood madness ; 

Her streams adream with memory that deplores 
The red inhabitants evanished and undone 
That follow, follow to far lands beyond the set- 
ting sun. 
And echoes one may hear of ancient lores 
From the Old World's well-loved shores,— 
Primal loves, and quenchless hates ; 
Striving lives, and conquering fates ; 



54 ilACDOWELL 

Elves innocently antic 

Or \^ild-eyed, frantic ; 

Shadow-heroes, passionate, gigantic,— 

Sons and daughters of the prime 

That moved the mighty bards to noble rhyme. 

Rejoice ! Rejoice ! 
The New World hath new music — and a voice ! 



A MOOD 

WORDS praising music, what are they but 
leaves 
Whirled round the fountain by the wind that 

grieves. 
Frail human speech falls idly as the snow 
On the red lava's flow, — 

Still pours the music on, all passion and flame ; 
As music passes, that which music came,— 
Ever the same, with message never the same. 



55 



MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 

IN this valley far and lonely 
Birds sang only, 
And the brook, 

And the rain upon the leaves ; 
And all night long beneath the eaves 
(While with soft breathings slept the housed 

cattle) 
The hived bees 

Made music like the murmuring seas ; 
From lichened wall, from many a leafy nook, 

56 



MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 57 

The chipmunk sounded shrill his tiny rattle ; 
Through the warm day boomed low the droning 

flies, 
And the great mountains shook 
With the organs of the skies. 

Dear these songs unto my heart ; 
But the spirit longs for art, 
Longs for music that is born 
Of the human soul forlorn. 
Or the beating heart of pleasure. 
Thou, sweet girl, didst bring this boon 
Without stint or measure ! 
Many a tune 

Prom the masters of all time 
In my waiting heart made rhyme. 



58 MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 

As the rain on parched meadows. 
As cool shadows 
Falling from the summer sky, 
As loved memories die, 
But live again when a well-tuned voice 
Makes with old joy the grieved heart rejoice. 
So came once more with thy clear touch 
The melodies I love— 
Ah, not too much. 

But all earth's natural songs far, far above ! 
For they are nature felt, and living, 
And human, and impassioned ; 
And they full well are fashioned 
To bring to sound and sense the eternal striving. 
The inner soul of the inexpressive world, 
The meaning furled 



MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 59 

Deep at the heart of all, 
The thought that mortals name divine, 
Whereof all beauty is the sign. 
That comes— ah, surely comes— at music's 
solemn call. 



MUSIC AT TWILIGHT 



OH, give me music in the twilight hour ! 
Then, skilled musician! thou of the magic 
power. 
Summon the souls of masters long since gone 
Who through thine art live on ! 

As the day dies I would once more respire 
The passion of that spirit whose keen fire 
Flashes and flames in yearning and unrest 
And never-ending quest. 



MUSIC AT TWILIGHT 61 

Or listen to the quick, electric tones, 
Or moods of majesty, of him who owns 
The secret of the thrill that shakes the earth 
And moves the stars in mirth. 



And I would walk the shore of sound with him 
Whose voice was as the voice of cherubim: 
Musician most authentic and sublime 
Of all the sons of time. 



Bring their deep joys, the breath of solitudes 
Dear dreams and longings, and high, hero moods; 
Aye, bring me their melodious despairs 
To die in twilight airs. 



62 MTSIC AT TWILIGHT 

For, given a rhythmic voice, re-uttered so. 
Sorrow itself is lost in the large flow 
Of nature ; and of life is made such part 
As doth enrich the heart ; 

And on the tide of music, to my soul 
Shall enter beaut>'*s solace,— life be whole. 
Not broken by chords discordant, but most sweet. 
In sequent tones complete. 

n 
Great is the true interpreter, for like 
No other art, t^vo sentient souls must strike 
The spark of music that in blackness lies 
'Mid silent harmonies. 



MTSIC AT TWILIGHT 63 

Till, at a cunning touch, the long-lost theme 
Newly imagined, and new-born in dream. 
Clothed gloriously in garment of sweet sound 
Wakes from its darkened swound. 

So would I ask. Musician ! of thy grace 
That thou would'st bless and sanctify the place 
With august harmonies, well-loved of old ;— 
But from thy manifold 

Miraculous memory fail not of thine own 
Imaginings enraptured of pure tone. 
That I may nearer draw to music's shrine, 
And mystery di\'ine. 



MUSIC IN MOONLIGHT 

WAS ever music lovelier than to-night ! 
'T was Schumann's Song of Moonlight ; 
o'er the vale 
The new moon lingered near the western hills ; 
The hearth-fire glimmered low ; but melting 

tones 
Blotted all else from memory and thought, 
And all the world was music. Wondrous hour ! 
Then sank anew into our tranced hearts 

64 



MUSIC IN MOONLIGHT 65 

One secret and deep lesson of sweet sound— 
The loveliness that from unloveliness 
Out-springs, flooding the soul with poignant joy, 
As the harmonious chords to harsh succeed, 
And the rapt spirit climbs through pain to bliss : 
Eternal question, answer infinite ; 
As day to night replies ; as light to shade ; 
As summer to rough winter ; death to life,— 
Death not a closing, but an opening door; 
A deepened life? a prophecy fulfilled. 

Not in the very present comes reply 
But in the flow of time. Should the song cease 
Too soon ; ere yet the rooted answer blooms, 
Lo, what a pang of loss and dissonance ! 
But time, with the resolving and intended tone 
Heals all, and makes all beautiful and right. 



66 MUSIC IN MOONLIGHT 

Even so our mortal music-makers frame 
Their messages melodious to men ; 
Even so the Eterne his mighty harmonies 
Fashions, supreme, of life, and fate, and time. 
JLOFO. 



MUSIC IN DARKNESS 

I 
AT the dim end of day 
XjL I heard the great musician play : 
Saw her white hands now slow, now swiftly pass ; 
Where gleamed the polished wood, as in a glass. 
The shadow hands repeating every motion. 
Then did I voyage forth on music's ocean, 
Visiting many a sad or joyful shore, 
Where storming breakers roar. 
Or singing birds made music so intense,— 

67 



68 MUSIC IN DARKNESS 

So intimate of happiness or sorrow,— 
I scarce could courage borrow 
To hear those strains ; well-nigh I hurried 

thence 
To escape the intolerable weight 
That on my spirit fell when sobbed the music : 

late, too late, too late. 
While slow withdrew the light 
And, on the lyric tide, came in the night. 

II 

So grew the dark, enshrouding all the room 
In a melodious gloom. 
Her face growing viewless ; line by line 
That swaying form did momently decline 



MUSIC IN DARKNESS 69 

And was in darkness lost. 
Then white hands ghostly turned, though still 

they tost 
Prom tone to tone ; pauseless and sure as if in 

perfect light ; 
With blind, instinctive, most miraculous sight. 
On, on they sounded in that world of night. 



Ill 

Ah, dearest one ! was this thy thought, as mine. 

As still the music stayed ? 

So shall the loved ones fade,— 

Feature by feature, line on lovely line ; 

For all our love, alas. 

From twilight into darkness shall they pass ! 



70 MUSIC IN DARKNESS 

We in that dark shall see them never more. 
But from our spirits they shall not be banished,- 
For on and on shall the sweet music pour 
That was the soul of them, the loved, the van- 
ished ; 
And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite 
In that mysterious night." 







OCT 9 1909 



0G\ 10 »906 




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